


It Is Not In The Stars To Hold Our Destiny (But In Ourselves)

by littleramblings



Series: For Age Is Opportunity [1]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, First Meetings, Getting Together, Hogwarts, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-27 04:17:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9962249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleramblings/pseuds/littleramblings
Summary: But as it goes, first years rarely make the team, and so Jim approached Pavel Chekov with a smile and an offer, and left with one of three chasers for his team.The Hogwarts AU that literally nobody asked for.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For the sake of this fic please forget everything you know about Elves in the HP universe. Think more Vulcan meets Lord of the Rings-y / Mountain dwellers. 
> 
> I also mixed up the years at one point so let's pretend students have two careers meetings, one before choosing electives and one before their OWLs. Also I did a lot of research for the bits in this fic but I can't remember if I just bullshitted the relationship between aconite and verbena, because magic is magic and doesn't need to make too much sense, right? So, if you're a plant person and I'm talking absolute crap, please let me know.
> 
> This piece is basically just Slytherin propaganda, sorry not sorry.

The Hogwarts Express left promptly at 11 o’clock on September 1st. Jim knew this, had known this for as long as he remembered his mother telling stories of her adventures in Gryffindor tower, and yet he was still going to be late.

 

10:42am and Jim sat on the tube, foot tapping impatiently beside his trunk. Of all the days for there to be a fault in the electrics, it was today. The London underground was a maze of commuters, tourists, and locals, all rushing to get to where they needed to be, but today there were tuts and sighs of irritation as the Piccadilly line refused to start up. It was something in the lines, something they couldn’t quite pin down.

 

10:45am and Jim’s fingers curled into fists against the leg of his jeans, eyes closed tightly as he wished, _prayed_ , that he’d get to King’s Cross in time.

 

10:45am, and the lights flickered on, the familiar hum of the engine covering the “about time”s of the passengers on board. In the driver’s carriage, the staff shared a look, relief and confusion carried on three short words.

 

“It’s like magic.”

 

-*-

 

Jim ran through the station, trunk rattling precariously against the trolley he managed to claim. There was no pause as he ran towards the wall separating platforms 9 and 10, no hesitation as the brickwork swallowed the front of his luggage, and then Jim himself. It was 10:59am and within seconds Jim had grabbed his case, flung open the closest coach door, and began to catch his breath.

 

He supposed it was for the best that he didn’t have anyone to wave him off, that Winona was on a business trip and that Frank just couldn’t be bothered. He might not have been on time, otherwise.

 

(He ignored the fact that, if they had been there, he probably wouldn’t have had to rely on muggle transport anyway.)

 

11:00am, and a whistle pierced the air of Platform 9 ¾ as the Hogwarts Express left for the first time that year.

 

-*-

George Kirk had been one of the most notable wizards to stand up to Voldemort in the second dark war. He’d been tortured for three weeks, interrogated for information regarding the safe places of Dumbledore’s army until he was driven nearly insane from the pain. He’d given them nothing, of course, until he had given them his life. His name was written beside those of the fallen on Diagon Alley’s memorial, but they were never able to find the body.

 

Whilst at Hogwarts, he had also been the best Quidditch captain Gryffindor house had ever seen.

 

Jim thought on that as he sat in an empty carriage near the back of the train, head leaning against the window. Both George and Winona had come from lines of Gryffindor so long there wasn’t any point tracing further back than the 1800s, and though Winona hadn’t expressed any concern as to what would happen if Jim wasn’t sorted that way, Jim wasn’t sure how much of that resulted from the fact that she’d never considered it a possibility.

 

Jim was distracted from his musings as the carriage door slid open, revealing a peaky looking kid around the same height and age.

 

“Mind if I sit here?” he asked, but had already pulled his trunk into the compartment and was lifting it into the over-head racks before Jim could answer. “Trains,” the kid grumbled, and it was only then that Jim noticed the pale quality to his face and slight tremble to his hands.

 

“Travel sick?” Jim guessed, and inclined his head towards the seat across from him.

 

“Yeah, thanks. I’m Leonard, by the way. Leonard McCoy.”

 

“Jim Kirk.” Jim said, holding out a hand to shake McCoy’s.

 

Realisation flickered across Leonard’s eyes, and Jim had a moment to think _not this again,_ but McCoy simply dusted his hands on his robes and flashed a smile.

 

“Cool. So, you ever watch muggle films? Because I’ve got this portable DVD player and there’s still a few hours left…”

 

Jim blinked once then smiled, previous concerns pushed aside as he scooted over to Leonard’s side of the seat. Maybe, he thought, things wouldn’t be so bad after all, even if McCoy did throw up on his shoes an hour later.

 

-*-

 

The great hall was as impressive as it sounded in his mother’s stories, and in _Hogwarts: A History, vol.2_. The parts that were rebuilt after the war were indistinguishable from the sections that had survived, and Jim couldn’t help but look up towards the clear night sky as he and the rest of the first years were lead between the tables, towards the front of the hall.

 

“Pretty neat,” he murmured half to himself, as the stars seemed to shine brighter at the attention he gave them.

 

Jim didn’t pay much attention to the first half of the sorting ceremony. He clapped on cue with everyone else as names and houses were called, until it was his turn to take the seat. The nervousness that had boiled up within him at the thought of being sorted returned, and it was with heavy feet that he climbed the stairs, whispers of _“That’s George Kirk’s son!”_ following him.

 

The hat was old, old and falling apart. Jim half wondered how it was still in one piece after centuries, but then remembered that magic existed, that it had been a part of his life since he was born, and he began to feel a little like an idiot.

 

 _Definitely not Ravenclaw, then,_ he thought to himself.

 

Climbing the last stair, Jim met deputy headmaster Pike’s gaze. The man doesn’t smile, exactly, but there was something in the way he looked at Jim, combined with the slight nod of his head, which made Jim feel a little bit better. The sorting hat was placed on his head, and Jim heard the voice in his mind as clearly as if had been spoken aloud.

 

_“Ah, another Kirk! I remember the Kirks. Brave, yes, but determined and driven, also. So where to put you…”_

He took a breath and held it. He wasn’t sure what he was hoping for, why he was resisting the urge to tap his feet against the refurbished wooden floor. Jim’s mind flashed between banners of reds and golds and silvers, until –

 

“Slytherin!”

 

The breath he had been holding rushed out of his lungs, leaving Jim lightheaded. There was a brief moment of silence before a series of timid claps turned into the familiar hooting and loud applause. The population of Slytherin table was far smaller than that of the other three houses; though nobody would ever know for sure, it was suspected that a large number of students had requested specifically to avoid it, praying for anything but that from the moment the hat was placed on their head.

 

Ignoring the eyes that were following him, Jim strode towards the table in the furthest corner of the room. Green and silver tapestries lined the wall behind it, and as he swung his legs over the old bench, the knot in Jim’s stomach curled tighter around itself.

 

He had to tell Winona.

 

-*-

 

Night fell over Hogwarts slowly, and then all at once. Jim couldn’t see the stars from the Slytherin dungeon, but the emerald depths of the lake pressed against the tall windows, filling the dormitory and common room with a green hue. It was cosy; for all its damp reputation, a large fireplace lined the back wall, snake heads carved at either end of the wrought-iron mantelpiece. Plush couches made from worn leather were arranged in neat groups throughout the room, and though the floor was brick, it was never cold to touch.

 

“All students must return to the common room by 9:00pm. Any student caught outside of their common rooms will receive a deduction of 10 house points, so make sure that isn’t you.” Khan spoke, tone indicating that the concern lay in being caught, not in breaking the rules.

 

“Boys, follow the corridor to your left. That is where you will find the male dormitory; your luggage has already been taken through and has been placed in your assigned rooms. The same information applies to the girls, whose dormitory is to the right, and non-binary students, whose dormitory lays straight ahead. Breakfast begins at 7:00am and ends at 9:00am. Be sure to get to your classes on time, as tardiness will reflect badly on Slytherin house. We will be winning the house cup this year, so any deducted points will not be regarded lightly. Dinner is served from 6:00pm to 8:00pm, and if you have queries that your own research does not answer, ask either myself or an older housemate. Now, find your rooms, and settle in.”

 

As far as prefects go, Khan Singh wasn’t a bad one. He encouraged his students to be independent, giving them the information they needed and then let them get on with it. Jim wasn’t too impressed by the guy, but that was because he’d seen him lay into a third year Ravenclaw with a ruthlessly sharp tongue, all because the kid had been walking too slowly ahead of them, causing the trail of Slytherins to miss the right staircase before it moved. But then again, Jim didn’t have much time for people who were so uptight they might as well have a branch up their arse, either.

 

Silver lanterns hung from the dormitory ceilings and Jim had to admit that he didn’t mind the absence of a night sky, as long as the sounds of water lapping against brick were there to lull him to sleep. The bed was large, far larger than the one he had back in Iowa, and the sheets were soft under his fingertips. Across from him, Leonard McCoy was rummaging through his trunk, tossing robes and sweaters aside until his pudgy 11 year old hands grasped something rectangular and cold.

 

“Gotcha,” he murmurs, and Jim watches from his bed as McCoy places a photo frame on his nightstand. Squinting, Jim could make out the shapes of three people – McCoy himself, a woman who looked too similar to be anyone but his mother, and a man with a bright smile and an arm around the two in the picture. Leonards father.

 

Jim doesn’t sigh, but he squeezes his eyes closed against the dim half-light of the room, and turns over to sleep.

 

-*-

 

Morning light streamed through the windows of the great hall, bathing each house table in the crisp warmth of a September morning. Jim’s first class was potions, one shared with the Ravenclaw first years, and he poked at his eggs as Leonard grumbled beside him.

 

“8:00am. Who runs a first class at 8:00am, when breakfast doesn’t finish until 9:00? Insane people, that’s who.”

 

“Which is why it starts at 7:00.” Jim grins, taking a hearty gulp of juice.

 

 The morning post had arrived at exactly 7:30am, and with it there had been no letter from his mother. Jim didn’t expect to hear back so quickly, not really. She was busy, Frank had a life. Probably hadn’t told her yet that little Jimmy Kirk had been sorted into Slytherin house, the one with the bad reputation. He was probably still laughing about it, tossing back a beer while muttering about how he _always knew that kid was a wrong’un._ So Jim smiled, and let Leonard grumble. He felt warmer than he ever did at home, anyway.

 

“So, potions. No interpretation, just straight forward ingredients. How hard can that be, really?”

 

One day, Jim will learn to stop tempting fate.

 

-*-

 

“Today we will be brewing an awakening potion. A simple draught, but one that could save your life, if need be. Not only does it prevent the drinker from falling asleep for the following 24 hours after consumption, it also awakens an individual from a drug induced state or concussion.” Professor Burrows spoke, pacing the front of the classroom. “Turn to page 73 of your textbooks. Now, who can tell me the risks of brewing with the following ingredients?”

 

Jim’s eyes scanned the page in front of him. Snake fangs, standard ingredient, billywig stings, wolfsbane. Everything could be dangerous, if used with the right incentive. But then again…

 

“Wolfsbane leaves.” Jim mumbles, half to himself than to anyone else, but it was loud enough to be heard over the silence of other students.

 

“Yes, Kirk?” Burrows did not smile, but there was a glint to her eye as she walked towards the bench Jim sat at.

 

Jim cleared his throat. “Um, the leaves of monkshood are extremely toxic. So, touch them, you’re not really going to be much use to whoever you’re trying to wake up. Or put to sleep. Either way,” he shrugged, leaning back in his seat. “Also, enough force behind a snake fang could puncture some vital arteries, but I don’t think that’s the answer you’re looking for.”

 

There were a few sniggers from the back of the classroom, Slytherins and Ravenclaws combined, because every 11 year old (no matter the house) loved to see a teacher sassed. Burrows, defying the reputation of those previously in her position, simply shook her head.

 

“10 points to Slytherin, that is correct, Kirk. Now, the wolfsbane we’ve prepared for you today has already been trimmed, but this will not always be the case. In future, be careful when preparing your ingredients. We can heal you just fine in the infirmary, but it would be nice to avoid taking a trip there altogether, agreed?”

 

There was a chorus of _‘yes, miss’_ s from the room, and Burrows clapped once, but before she could instruct the class to start, another voice spoke.

 

“Excuse me professor,” a boy from the front row interrupted, voice refined and mature beyond his years. “But given the toxicity of the aconite plant to humans, would it not be wiser to continue with verbena as a substitute? Its effects are less potent, indeed, but at an amateur level, might it be wise to introduce alternative measures for those less skilled in potions? Particularly for those whose mind-set lacks the stability to regard snake fangs as basic drought ingredients, as opposed to a primitive weapon.”

 

Jim straightened. Well, that son of a bitch.

 

“Hey, who the hell do you think you are –”

 

The boy turned, and if Jim didn’t know better, he’d think the boy’s skin was very faintly tinted green. But it had to be the lighting – the dungeons were close to the lake, lanterns hung from the ceiling here as they did in the Slytherin dormitories, and it was an unfortunate trick of the light that left the kid blushing jade. Unless, _unless,_ this was who the fourth years had been gossiping about, the half-blood who was the first of so many things to come to Hogwarts. The half wizard, half elven. Part of a race which lived in the mountains, who had gone undiscovered for so long, some believed them to be a myth. That was, of course, until around six years ago. Six years ago, when a pixie virus had driven them from their homes, forced them to expose themselves to the wizarding community. Of course, there were some who knew of them already. Hence, Spock. Ex- auror for a mother, elf for a father. And people thought Jim’s family tree was interesting.

 

“Boys…” Burrows raised an eyebrow, tone commanding. Jim did not sulk, but he did relax in his seat, frown directed at the text book and not at the kid who had been a dick _for no reason at all._

“Spock, you are correct that verbena can substitute for wolfsbane if necessary. The effects are not as long lasting, however, and as you have pointed out, not as strong. Every person in this room _will_ brew a successful draught of an awakening potion by the time the bell charms in 40 minutes time, using the ingredients provided. Five points to Ravenclaw for initiative, but if I hear another word from either of you, that’ll be five deducted. Got it?”

 

“Yes, Professor.” Jim said, echoed by Spock in an annoyingly more polite way. Goddamn know it all, pointy eared _bastard._

 

-*-

 

“I mean, what’s his problem, you know?” Jim said, stabbing his potato with a fork. “It was a _joke._ ”

 

“Hobgoblins probably don’t do the whole humour thing,” McCoy replied, but he appeared more interested in eyeing up the Hufflepuff sat at the table just behind Jim’s shoulder, than listening to his friend go on _again_ about the Ravenclaw who sassed him first thing on a Monday morning.

 

“ _I_ heard that his people don’t really do the emotions thing at all,” a first year girl said, leaning closer.  “They’re like, all logical and shit. Mind over matter, you know?”

 

“That’s not documented,” Jim frowned, mind going over what he had read (albeit briefly) about Mountain elves. Their true name was unpronounceable to humans, and so a crude alternative had been suggested.

 

“No,” the girl agreed, not fazed by that assertion. “But my Uncle works at the ministry, and he overheard someone saying that the department of interspecies relations are trying _really_ hard to get more information about these guys. They’ve sent out representatives to live among them and everything.”

 

“Huh. They agreed to that? They seem kind of standoff-ish.” Jim said, curiosity peaked.

 

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time a witch or wizard got under their noses, would it? I’m Daisy, by the way.” Daisy said, after casting a pointed glace towards Ravenclaw table.

 

Spock sat alone, or alone as one could be on a table of 120. It wasn’t hard to imagine mountain elves as an emotionless bunch; Spock didn’t slouch, ate with a poise Jim had only ever seen in films about the prestigious and important muggles and wizards, and barely spoke to anyone. It was the first official day of school, Jim would grant him that, but you had to make friends sometime.

 

He almost felt sorry for the kid.

 

_Almost._

 

“Jim.” He said instead, sharing a tight smile with the girl next to him. “Pleasure.”

 

“Oh, no.” Daisy said, with a lewd smirk. “It’s all mine.”

 

-*-

 

By either a blessing or a curse, Slytherin’s flight lesson was shared with Gryffindor’s. Professor Pike did not pace, nor did he allow his attention to be wasted on those who were too busy gossiping to pay attention to his instructions.

 

“For those of you who are only here because this is a required class, you are dismissed. Flying is not a whim, it is a dedication. As dangerous as it can thrilling, you will need discipline and determination to be the best that you can be. Quidditch try-outs are in exactly one week. First years very rarely make the team, however if you show me passion, I will match it with the best darn teaching you will ever receive.”

 

Jim was full of energy, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet.

 

“I’m benching myself. See you, Jimbo.” McCoy smiles, clapping his friend on the shoulder. Jim nodded but didn’t trust himself to speak; George and Winona had both loved Quidditch, been recorded as some of the best players of their time. Jim wanted to know what they had loved, to understand why Winona would fetch out her broom every year on his birthday, the memory of George’s death so heavy and fresh on her mind that she would smile sadly, tell Jim that she’d be back in just a minute, and kick off into the sky. Minutes were never minutes, and it would be hours before she’d return, no explanation as to why she’d gone, but always a smile forced onto her quivering lips.

 

Jim was ready to fly.

 

“Stand on the right side of your broom, hand at the ready, and say _up!_ ”

 

“Up. Up. _Up!_ ”

 

It was a Gryffindor who was the first to have their broom respond. Jim rolled his eyes at the exaggerated bravado from his peers, and raised his own hand for the first time. Eyes closed, Jim breathed steadily and felt the magic humming through his veins.

 

“ _Up.”_

 

Slytherin were the second house to have a broom respond.

 

-*-

 

“It was amazing, Leonard.” Jim whispered, dormitory dark save for the faintest glow of green. Whether it was from the lake or the lanterns above them, Jim didn’t know. Nor did he really care; his heart still thudded in his chest, the memory of wind through his hair and fresh autumn air in his lungs keeping him awake. “It was everything I ever imagined it would be. I’m trying out for the team next week. I know it’s rare for first years to get in, but I figure if I give it a shot, I’ve not lost anything if I don’t get in, you know? And if I _do_ get in, I stand a better chance of becoming captain in a few years. I recon I could do it.”

 

“You bet your arse you could.” McCoy said firmly, punching one of Jim’s pillows to get it to the right level of comfy. “We’re all very proud. You could make youngest captain in the history of Hogwarts. Now, can we _please_ go to sleep?”

 

Jim smiled fondly, the glowing letters on his muggle clock reading 12:48am. “Sure, pal. We can sleep.”

 

It was a while before Jim’s heart stopped beating fast enough to let him relax, but by then McCoy’s soft snores were all he could hear from his left, and the lapping of the lake against the window on his right. Nestling down underneath the covers, Jim felt closer to happy than he had in a long time.

 

-*-

 

Spock cornered Jim on a fourth floor corridor between history of magic and charms almost one week later. Jim attempted to side step him, to continue down the near-empty hallway, because he was already going to be late if he didn’t hurry up and he really didn’t want to have to deal with the wrath of Khan this evening. Spock, however, simply stepped in his way once more.

 

“Kirk. I believe an apology is in order.”

 

That made Jim pause. He folded his arms across his chest, took a step back, and looked up. Spock was as clear faced as ever, but there was a slight downwards slant to his mouth that Jim had nearly missed. Whether it was embarrassment, awkwardness, or regret, he wasn’t sure. Instead of commenting on it, Jim raised both eyebrows, silent.

 

If Spock were the type of person to sigh, that would have been the perfect opportunity. As it was, Spock had been taught that such actions were illogical, and therefore composed himself to share the thoughts he had been fixated on the past six nights.

 

“My behaviour in our shared potions class was unwarranted and, as I have been lead to believe, the result of an unfair bias towards your sorting.”

Jim blinked. He wasn’t expecting something so straightforward. “Well, yeah.”

 

“I had believed that your statement regarding snake fangs was a suggestion towards premeditated violence in the name of Slytherin superiority. Your house has a reputation that exceeds that which I have come to witness, and is evidently an outdated one.”  There was a pause, and then Spock spoke in a tone far softer than Jim had ever expected to hear from him. “My people were heavily affected by both dark wars, though our name has been removed from all recorded histories. I spoke out of prejudice and socially instilled resent. I am sorry.”

 

At this, Jim could do nothing but there, mouth open but no sound coming out. Spock nodded respectfully, then moved around Jim and continued down the hall. They had been alone, and now Jim stood there watching the retreating form of a blue trimmed cloak, shocked into silence.

 

_Damn Elf, always getting the last word._

-*-

 

“Let me get this straight,” McCoy said over dinner, quiet enough so their fellow housemates wouldn’t hear their conversation. “Legolas _apologised_ to you? As in, flat out ‘sorry I was a judgemental asshole’, kind of apology?”

 

“More or less,” Jim shrugged, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “I guess not all Ravenclaws are idiots, after all.”

 

“Well,” McCoy sat back, dropping a chicken wing onto his plate. “Fancy that. So y’know which position you’re trying out for, yet?”

 

Jim grinned. “Beater, I’m thinking.”

 

“Well hit a bludger at that Clearwater dick for me, would you? Second year. Pretty sure he’s the one that sent that impediment jinx the other day.”

 

Jim clenched his fingers into fists around his cutlery. Leonard had had ten points deducted for tardiness their first astronomy lesson, shuffling into the tower at an alarmingly slow pace because one of the Gryffindors thought it would be hilarious to jinx a Slytherin. Jim hated bullies.

 

“Hm,” he hummed, spoon tracing idle patterns into his soup. “We’ll see.”

 

(Aiden Clearwater limped towards care of magical creatures the next day with a bruise under his eye and a cut under his cheek. Hagrid had asked what the bloody hell had happened to him, and Aiden had grinned, said he had an accident summoning his broom, and promptly ignored the questioning glances from his teammates. He was no amateur.)

 

-*-

 

It was raining the morning of Quidditch try-outs. Not the light mist of rain that soaked you before you really knew it was there, but fat, harsh droplets that blinded you as you walked and forced you to keep your head down. Jim stretched in the dorm before heading down to the changing rooms, shoulders hunched and scarf covering half his chin. The wind was cold and biting, tinting Jim’s cheeks pink and numbing his fingers. By the time he made it to the changing rooms, his robes were soaked and his hair lay matted to his face.

 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Jim muttered, stripping his clothes as quickly as he dare. There were spare uniforms laid out for those who had signed up, and Jim grabbed the green and silver jersey and pulled it over his head. The soft material warmed him instantly, if only to a small degree, and as he pulled on the trousers his confidence began to build. The fingerless gloves were trickier to slide on, but only because his own hands were still numb from the cold.

 

By the time he and the other Slytherins (around fifteen from other year groups, only two from his own) made it onto the pitch, the morning sun had already risen over the grounds and was inching closer to the divination tower. It was a Saturday, which meant Gaila, the family’s spotted owl, would be arriving at the Owlery shortly after breakfast.  At least, that was if Winona had written this week.

 

“Alright, listen up!” Katie’s voice rang out across the pitch. The captain stood with her arms behind her back, appearing unbothered by the growing storm around them. “Beaters grab your bats, keepers, your helmets. Sort yourselves into potential positions and I will sort you into teams. Each team will play one another whilst myself and my seeker, Richard, watch. You start when I blow my whistle and you stop when I blow my whistle, got it?”

 

The group nodded, a few _‘Yes’s_ echoed across the grounds, Jim clutched his broom tightly in one hand. He was going to make it.

 

Kicking off was the easiest part, but finding balance on the winds that blew around them was a challenge in itself. Rain fell against Jim’s goggles so much so that he had to keep wiping them on the sleeve of his jersey. He shivered against the hard wood of the broom, standard issue borrowed from the flying shed. The quaffle soared past his head, so close that Jim wasn’t sure if it was rain or ball that stung the very tip of his ear.

 

“Kirk, focus!”

Jim pursed his lips, leaning forwards on his broom as he flew around the pitch, looking for the second beater – a third year, Flint. Everything was a blur of silver and green, the murky grey of the sky making it even more difficult to tell one team from the other. Jim’s team had had a band of white tape strapped to their upper arms, but at the speed with which they were playing at, Katie needn’t have bothered. It was nearly impossible to tell who was who, and as Jim sat up at the sight of an approaching bludger, bat in hand, he had no way of telling whether it was Flint or Garraway who crashed into his side, veering him off course.

 

-*-

 

“They weren’t all dicks about it, but _damn it_ , some of them were assholes.” Jim grumbled later, curled against the arm of one of the common room sofas. Leonard sat at the other end, mug of hot chocolate that he’d managed to convince the house elves to make them both resting on his lap.

 

“So get ‘em back next year. You know your stuff, just practise. You’ll make the team, and you won’t have to cheat to do it.”

 

“It technically wasn’t cheating,” Jim sighed, crossing a leg under himself. “Can’t tell which one of them it was, and the only foul play is a competitive spirit. Can’t blame them for that. Not going to forget it, though.”

 

McCoy hums in agreement, hands warming themselves against the warm ceramic. “Start your own team and fly circles around them next practise. Show them how it’s done when you play fair.”

 

He was joking, Jim knew that, but something clicked in his mind at that and he sat up, nearly knocking Leonard’s mug in the process.

 

“Hey, watch it!”

 

“Sorry,” Jim said, climbing off the sofa. “Bones, you’re amazing.” Leaning down, Jim smacked a loud and over-exaggerated kiss onto McCoy’s cheek.

 

“What the hell are you on? Also, _bones?_ ”

 

Jim paused, half way to the dungeon entrance. “Well, you want to work at St. Mungo’s, don’t you?” he grinned, ducking through door before McCoy could think of a retort.

 

It had a ring to it, anyway.

 

-*-

 

_Jim,_

_My work is going well and with luck I should be able to meet you at King’s Cross in December to travel back to Iowa for Christmas. I’m glad you appear to be settling into Hogwarts well, it is a brilliant school and I hope that you will make the most of the opportunities given to you. Remember, it is not the house you are in, but how you present your house, which is important. I chose to send you to Hogwarts and not Ilvermorny for a reason; there are merits to both, and you would have made friends no matter where you went, but only at Hogwarts will you find yourself._

_Your dad would be proud._

_Love, mom._

_-*-_

Jim watched from the stands at every house try-out. The Hufflepuffs were a good group but small in numbers, they played off each other well and Jim couldn’t imagine picking only a few and breaking up a team that clearly had such a strong dynamic already. But as it goes, first years rarely make the team, and so Jim approached Pavel Chekov with a smile and an offer, and left with one of three chasers for his team.

 

The Ravenclaw team was twice the size of the Hufflepuffs, and Jim couldn’t help the surprised twitch of his eyebrows at the sight of Spock, wrapped up in blue and bronze, in the position of a chaser. He was pretty good, even Jim had to admit. Every move he made was planned, executed with a finesse that Jim hadn’t seen in many first year players. He couldn’t help but focus on the elf as he flew, eyes fixed on the quaffle. Still, though his movements were technically infallible, there was no passion behind his actions. He didn’t love it, and that affected his performance possibly more than he was aware. Jim forgot to watch the rest of the team, but really, he didn’t need to.

 

Gryffindor’s captain took one look at him in the stands and refused to kick off until he had left, muttering aloud as to how low Slytherin standards must have fallen if they were willing to send a first year to suss out the competition.

 

-*-

“I am afraid I don’t understand your proposition.” Spock said, the slightest crease appearing on his forehead. Jim smiled.

 

“A practise team. Those who really want it, but didn’t make the cut. I’ve got one chaser already, and you’re really good on a broom. I want you to be my second, I think you could really teach us a thing or two. And who knows, you might even grow to like it.”

 

Spock straightened, looked as if he were about to protest, then relaxed. “My mother wished for me to join an extracurricular. I accept your offer.”

 

“Great!” Jim grinned, clapping Spock on the shoulder. Spock flinched at the contact, not used to such casual contact. “Uh, sorry.” Jim said, hesitantly removing his hand.

 

“It’s… quite alright.” Spock nodded, shifting his books from one arm to the next. “If I may, I might be aware of two individuals who would be interested in your cause.”

 

Jim nodded, excitement pooling in his stomach. Things were finally coming together. “Absolutely, send them my way. I’ll keep you updated, okay?”

 

“Yes.” Spock said, simply. A moment passed, a small fragment of time in which Jim was sure Spock’s eyes were softer, almost hopeful. And then it was gone, Spock stepped back and lowered his gaze, and Jim did his best to push down the swell of disappointment. What had he even been hoping for, anyway? “Until next time… Jim.”

 

Jim’s heart thudded strangely, the sound of his name on Spock’s lips oddly pleasing. “Yeah,” he said, distracted. “Until then.”

 

For the second time that week, Spock left Jim alone in the old stone hallway, footsteps echoing behind him.

 

-*-

 

Nyota Uhura was the first to approach Jim in the library. It was a late Sunday evening, the sun having already set behind the castle grounds. Jim was busy copying notes from an old, leather-bound astronomy book onto his own scraps of parchment, quill leaving blotches of ink on both the paper and the cuff of his sleeve. He didn’t notice her at first, too busy focussing on the finer details of the Andromeda galaxy.

 

Nyota cleared her throat, shifting her books from one arm to the other. Jim dropped his quill, snapping his gaze towards the second year who stood before him. His gaze was focussed, intent, and as his eyes quickly flicked around the room, he noticed that they were alone. Having come from a long line of Gryffindors, Jim held none of the pre-conceived bias that many of his housemates had with regards to the beloved house of lions, but he was fully aware that the reverse was not always true. He’d had enough experience, his first few weeks alone, of Gryffindor prejudice.

 

“Can I help you?” Jim asked, eyebrows raised. He gestured towards his work, now smudged and most likely only legible to him, because _damn it_ he had more important things to do than to get into a brawl with somebody older than him.

 

Nyota, for her sake, looked like she’d rather be anywhere than here. “I want in.”

 

Jim blinked. “Excuse me?”

 

Sighing, Nyota dropped her books onto the table beside Jim, the heavy volumes hitting the wood with a thud. She took the seat beside him, opening her volume of _Advanced Charms_ , pages turning with a simple flick of her wand. “Spock recommended I talk to you. Said you were putting together a team for Quiddich. I’m a good beater, I’ve been playing with my family for over four years, but they don’t think my build is appropriate for the role. I’ve been offered chaser twice, but I don’t want to settle for a position I don’t want, just so I can say I’m on the team.”

 

That, Jim could respect. A moment of silence stretched between them, and Jim picked up his quill, beginning to re-read his notes.

 

“It’ll be strange hours.” He began, voice low. “We’d have to use the pitch when it’s not booked out, which is going to be difficult. Might involve a little rule breaking.” When there came no protest from the girl to his left, Jim continued, tension easing out of his shoulders. “I’ll let you know when the team is complete. We’ll have to meet up, look at everyone’s schedules.”

 

Nyota nodded over her charms work, “Alright.”

 

Jim glanced a look to his side, taking in the way in which Nyota held herself. There was grace, sure, but underneath her calm exterior Jim could see there was a nerve of steel. Someone who could pick herself up, dust of the blood and bruises, and keep going.  Someone who probably already had.

 

“If Spock recommended you, you must be good.”

 

The two carried on in silence for the rest of the hour, green and red trimmed robes working around each other with measured ease. Out of the corner of his eye, however, Jim saw her smile.

 

-*-

 

Things seemed to fall into place, after that. Nyota sent fellow second year Hikaru Sulu Jim’s way, and Jim instantly liked the casual air of confidence that he emitted. In the few words they exchanged, Jim knew he was everything Gryffindor house should be.

 

From his spot against the old tree by the lake, Jim could see Spock walking his way, accompanied by another figure in blue trimmed robes. He was chatting away, an animated blizzard against Spock’s immovable pillar, but despite the distracting whirlwind beside him, Spock’s step didn’t falter.  At this distance, Jim could admire the sharp edges to his body, the cheekbones he had yet to grow into, and the eyebrows which would look odd on anybody else, but were strangely endearing on him.

 

Eleven years old, and too young to know how these thoughts would one day shape his future, Jim stood. The sun shone down, rays beating against his back, causing the black of his robes to stick to his skin. Spock seemed unfazed by the mid-September sun, approaching with what appeared to be a practised natural stride. Jim wondered how many of his actions were thought out prior to them being executed, then thought about how long it had been since he began to even care about these things. He wasn’t sure if he and Spock were friends, or whether they had settled into a truce of mutual respect. Either way, it was something new and entirely unfamiliar.

 

“Spock,” Jim smiled, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his robes. “Hey.”

 

“Good afternoon, Jim.” Spock nods, eyes shining in a way that Jim understood to be his way of smiling. “There is someone I think you would like to meet.”

 

In the end, Spock had brought him Scotty, who in turn brought in Jaylah – top notch seeker, a transfer from Beauxbatons, who had made a second year entry but refused to follow the house segregations. She was often seen switching between tables for meal times, and never wore the colour trimmed robes. Jim wasn’t sure which house she truly belonged to, but whichever it was, he felt sorry for whoever had to suffer the constant deduction of points as she refused to wear her tie.

 

At least, he would, if he didn’t find the whole thing pretty damn admirable.

 

 

-*-

 

Two beaters, three chasers, one seeker. Equal parts bribery and blackmail later, Jim convinced a disgruntled Bones to sit in as keeper.

 

By the first moonrise of October, Jim had his team.

 

-*-

 

“No, Tuesday won’t work either.” Nyota said, perfectly held chop sticks taking the last wonton from the box of Chinese take-out that Scotty had smuggled in. “Weasley’s planning to sneak the Gryffindor’s down after nightfall for a final pre-match practise.”

 

They were sat on unnaturally comfortable sofas, four arranged in a spacious square around a wooden table. Chekov had found the room, told Jim to meet him on the seventh floor, across from the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. At first he had thought the kid was mad, watching him pace back and forth with a look of concentration so hard, Jim nearly asked if he needed to see the nurse. Bones had sighed under his breath, arms folded as he swung on his heels, but Spock had watched with interest, the slightest tilt to his left eyebrow revealing his curiosity. And then, as if it had always been there, a door appeared.

 

And so they found the room of requirement, a myth from stories of a children’s army during Hogwarts’ darkest times, a rumoured safe haven for anybody in need. And boy, were this mismatched crew of hopefuls in need.

 

Jim groaned, leaning back against the grey fabric as Scotty once again scratched off the notes he’d been making.

 

“Perhaps if we register ourselves as am official student group, we would be able to make appropriate bookings –”

 

“Nope. They’d never sign off on it, too many factors to take into account, especially when there are already four registered teams.” Sulu shook his head, frowning.

 

“And then they’d be on look out, to see if we went ahead with it anyway. And getting caught then, after being told no, would be twice as bad as being caught just sneaking out.”

 

Spock didn’t sigh, but there was a rigidity to his shoulders that Jim took to interpreting as irritation, or as close to a sign to it as they’d ever get from him.

 

Despite the mix of personalities in the room – two Gryffindors, two Slytherins, two Ravenclaws, and a Hufflepuff – the only tension came from an inability to find a practise time that worked for everyone. There had, of course, been a moment of uncertainty when everyone arrived at the corridor Jim had told them about. Chekov had been on edge when Uhura arrived in her bold jumper, gold trimming the red stitch, and stood a few feet from Kirk and McCoy. Both of whom were in Slytherin green, the former idly twirling his wand as they waited. After a minute of awkward introductions and smiles, however, the tension had eased from his body. Spock had arrived next, followed shortly by Scotty, who despite an indifference to the sport in question, could never resist an opportunity to get involved in the latest antics. He had assigned himself the team’s official organiser, observer, and commentator – it was, after all, only logical to have an extra pair of eyes both watching the players and the pitch, just in case.

 

“This is ridiculous,” groaned Jaylah, French accent bleeding heavily into her words. “we are never going to practise.”

 

“Never say never.” Jim shook his head, scooting forward so that he could slide the paper from in front of Scotty closer towards himself. There had to be _something_ they could work around, some time they could make.  Scotty’s writing was messy, but he’d been using a muggle notebook as opposed to the academically recommended parchment, so at least it didn’t slant across the page. Squinting, Jim chewed on his lower lip. If they could avoid the prefects, then…

 

Oh. _Oh._

 

“So we can’t do tomorrow because the day is officially booked out by Slytherin, and at night Professor Kane is going to be in the astronomy tower. But the day after that, it’s only the staff meeting that’s stopping us. I know for a fact that Pike has a floo-call at 11:00pm, so they will have to be done by 10:50pm at the latest. Thirty minutes for everybody to be in their rooms, maybe fourty-five to be safe, hopefully half will be asleep by then.” He looked up, firelight from the pit across the room glowing across his face. “Midnight onwards. Once we’re on the on the pitch, we’re good. We just need to get there and back again without being caught.”

 

“You think we can do that?” McCoy asked, staring at the paper across from him.

 

“Now or never, Bones.” Jim smiled, before flicking his gaze towards those sat around him. “Agreed?”

 

There was a short pause, each student lost in thought. They would be breaking the rules, no doubt about it. If they were caught by a prefect, it was a house point deduction of at least 30. By a professor, even more than that.

 

“I’m in.” Nyota said, head raised.

 

“Me, too.” Added Sulu, and so followed the chimes of everyone else; Chekov, Jaylah, Scotty. Even Spock nodded, surveying Jim with a look he didn’t understand, and wouldn’t for a long time yet to come.

 

“High risk, flying several feet in the air when it’s pitch black out, no promise of success,” Bones took a long swig of water, shaking his head with a level of fond only a best friend could demonstrate. “What are we waiting for?”

 

 

-*-

 

_The transformation formula = the intended transformation is directly influenced by bodyweight (A), viciousness (V), wand power (W), concentration (C), and a fifth unknown variable (Z)._

Staring at the words on the page in front of him, Jim dropped his head to rest against his hands with a quiet groan.

 

“If I wanted to do maths, I’d actually go to maths.”

 

“If I may,”

 

Jim snapped up at the sound of Spock’s voice, coming from behind him.

 

“The wand power in relation to the degree of one’s concentration is affected by the caster’s viciousness” Spock extended a hand, finger tracing the lines of Jim’s notes. “The heavier the item, the higher the level of concentration necessary.”

 

“Huh.” Jim uttered, turning in his seat. Spock continued, explanation following the line of text on Jim’s scroll, but Jim looked not at his hand, but at Spock’s expression.

 

“With that established, the unknown variable then helps to determine the extent of how the other factors influence an intended transformation.”

 

He was pale, still, but the very tips of his ears held a faint green tint. They had never been so close before; Jim could see that his eyes were framed by thick lashes, dark as the ebony hair atop of his head, and not for the first time Jim found himself thinking about how _interesting_ Spock was.

 

“Transfiguration is both magical and scientific. You can cast a spell without understanding the underlying equation, but the equation is there nonetheless. It would be beneficial to possess a basic knowledge of the formula, for future reference.”

 

Jim blinked languidly, Spock’s words wrapping around him like honey, golden. Or maybe he just hadn’t had enough sleep the night before. “Yeah…”

 

A crash. A shout. Someone had dropped something and something had knocked into someone else, and Jim was wide awake. He cleared his throat. “Well, thanks for that. I’ll remember.”

 

“It would indeed be helpful to do so.” Spock said, a lilt to his voice that suggested – but it couldn’t…

 

“Did you just _joke_?” Jim grinned, suddenly alert.

 

Spock blinked, face blank. “I was being most sincere.”

 

That did nothing to deter Jim, who continued to smile as if Christmas had come a month early.

 

“Hey, Spock, you ever played wizards chess?”

 

 

-*-

 

Engraved into the brick of the wall by the tallest window in the Slytherin common room, there are names. It’s a subtle inscription, framing the pane around the glass in elegant twists and curves. Sixty-two names, Slytherin students from all years, who died in the Battle of Hogwarts.

_In Slytherin you’ll make your real friends; those cunning folks use any means to achieve their ends._

_2 nd May, 1998._

_Remembered and never forgotten._

Jim traces a name with a finger, the cross cut of the glass casting green, jade and emerald patterns across his face and the floor. Outside, one of the merfolk swims by, sharp scales glinting off the fading light. It’s oddly melancholy, and Jim lets the feeling wash over him. History of magic had been brutal today.

 

Professor Binns was very set in his ways, his ghost even more so. He’d taught before the war, during, and remained teaching still. Gryffindor was the house of heroes, of a chosen one who had defeated the Dark Lord – a boy, a student just like those in the room, capable of brilliant things. Brilliant, unless you were a Slytherin. Because Slytherin runs on bad blood, on corrupt hearts and a thirst for power so strong, people do anything to get it. And do even worse to keep it.

 

At least, that’s what Binns had said.

 

Jim glances from the dark stone to his hands, dried blood splattered across his knuckles.

 

“One wizard can’t be the poster boy for an entire group of people!” Jim had argued, quill gripped tight enough to turn his skin white.

 

Binns’ ghost had narrowed its eyes, his gazed moved from the script in front of him, to the face of the young boy who had dared to speak out of turn.  “Generalisations are unfortunate, though given the history of the house in question –”

 

“A history that has been recorded by anyone other than a Slytherin –”

 

“– is dubious enough to remind students to be cautious.”

 

Jim had leaned back against the seat, head tilted. “So be ambitious, but not ambitious enough to be mistaken for the next Voldemort? Keep one eye on the glass ceiling and the other –”

 

Binns, if possible, had turned even paler. “You dare speak that name –”

 

“It’s been over two decades.”

 

“Get _out_ of this classroom, Mr. Kirk!”

 

There had been no room for argument, and Jim hadn’t wanted to. Kicking his seat aside, he had strode from the room, vision blurring red. It was outside, in the empty corridor across from a painting of a woman preparing for bed, that Jim had punched the wall.

 

Three times.

 

It stung now. The song of the merfolk was distorted through the water and the walls, and Jim wiped angrily at the tears that threatened to fall onto his cheeks.

 

“Binns took ten points,” McCoy said gently, coming to stand behind Jim’s shoulder. “Nobody gives a damn, though. Khan’s kind of pleased you had a go at the old crony, though he’ll never say it.”

 

The corners of Jim’s mouth twitched. “Thanks.”

 

“And,” Bones continued, hand coming to rest on Jim’s shoulder. “I’m proud of you. Go team.”

 

Jim turned, the weight from his shoulders not lifted entirely, but easier to bear. “Well shucks, Bones. I didn’t know you cared.”

 

“Shut up,” McCoy laughed, and using the grip on Jim’s shoulder, pulled the Slytherin into a hug.

 

-*-

 

“And the bludger’s on its way to Sulu’s head there – _nice swerve,_ Spock’s got the quaffle, heading towards the goalpost, picking up speed, what the fuck are you playing at, laddie? Move yer broom!”

 

McCoy held in a frustrated groan, leaning forwards to block the ball. If he didn’t look down, he could almost admit that flying wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever done.  Almost. This was their third practise, his wand pressed tightly between the wood of his borrowed broom and his hand, lumos casting an opal glow across the darkness of the pitch.

 

Their first practise, they had all met with baited breath, full gear hidden under their robes. It had been a jilted process, each player getting used to relying on their mate for a successful practise. Uhura would hit too hard, body losing balance momentarily on the broom. Jim, on the other hand, would hit too loosely, ball flying in the general direction of his seekers with no certain target in mind. Scotty had watched from the side-lines, taking note of everyone’s performance, wand held high with one hand to cast a light across the darkened pitch, the other flipping the pages whenever his enchanted pen ran out of space.

 

Afterwards, debriefing under one of the spectator stands, they had agreed on some key points. The first, that McCoy couldn’t help the chasers if he didn’t want to be up by the goals. He and Scotty would therefore switch each week, with McCoy overtaking lookout and coaching duty when Scotty was acting Keeper. The second, that practising at night was near impossible when it came to knowing who was who.

 

With help from Sulu and Jaylah, the first years were taught to make their lumos last, and their second practise went far more smoothly.

 

Making their way back to the Ravenclaw tower, however, Spock had grabbed Scotty’s wrist and pulled them both against the stone wall, the cold from the bricks seeping through their cloaks.

 

“What the hell –” A hand clamped over his mouth, the fabric from Spock’s cloak blocking the skin to skin contact.

 

Before he had time to say anything else, or at least attempt to do so, footsteps echoed along the corridor, the glow of a wand shining off the damp stones. Beside him, Spock bowed his head, eyes closed as he whispered words in a language Scotty couldn’t understand, syllables that slipped easily from the tongue. It was irritating; Scotty couldn’t move, couldn’t tell him to shut up for fear that they would be caught, that everything would be blown open and it would be over before it had even began. There was no way they could hide their uniforms, the professor would know.

 

It was Longbottom, Scotty could see him now. He nudged Spock, elbow digging in to his ribs, but the boy didn’t flinch. He kept whispering, kept saying words that sounded so familiar, yet so distant. And Longbottom was nearly by them, wand inches from where they stood. He was so close, cloak brushing by their feet, and then –

 

He kept walking.

 

Straight past them.

 

Scotty didn’t dare breathe.

 

It wasn’t until they were once more in darkness, once the echo of footsteps had faded into nothing, that he pulled away, heart thudding.

 

“What was that?”

 

Spock pulled at his jumper, straightening the creases. When he appeared satisfied, he looked up, meeting Scotty’s gaze. There was a beat of silence, the slightest raise of Spock’s eyebrow.

 

His response was calm, collected, but Scotty felt as though he’d been let in on a deep secret.

 

“My people have magic far older than yours.”

 

And that was why, at their third practise, the cluster of students flew in their pyjamas – evening cloaks wrapped tightly around their small frames.

 

It was Spock who had suggested it. They were all too conspicuous in their gear, too easy to be caught out. At least this way, should they be seen on their way back to their common rooms, they could feign sleep-walking. It was logical.

 

Jim had shrugged, said it made sense, and that it was up to the others if they wanted to do the same. They had met the third time, Spock in plain cotton, Nyota in crimson silk. Jim wore an old t-shirt and cotton trousers, far too used to McCoy’s Spiderman bottoms to bat an eyelid. But seeing Spock like this, so casual, twisted something inside of him. There was something so vulnerable about night time, about being stripped back to nothing but resting clothes. No robes, no house colours to tell you who you could or could not be. God, he wanted to know this boy.

 

“Right,” Jim had breathed, the cold seeping onto his skin. “Let’s do this.”

 

-*-

 

Christmas time at Hogwarts was, for lack of a better term, magical. Winona had never made much of an effort back in Iowa; they would exchange gifts, but there was never a tree, never the mass amounts of lights and candles which floated in the great hall and in the common rooms.

 

“You’re staying?” McCoy had asked, clothes strewn messily across the bed as he packed his trunk.

 

Jim shrugged.

 

“Mom’s job’s going to take longer than she thought. But she’ll be down to meet me in Hogsmeade at the New Year.  It’s not worth going back to Iowa,” he said, pulling at a loose string from his jumper, before looking up to crack a smile. “ _Especially_ when I’ve got free reign of the castle. Apparently there’s a ghost on the fourth floor who’ll help you sneak out.”

 

Bones shoved his pile of socks aside, clearing space on the mattress to sit beside Jim. “Send me an owl. And if you do sneak out for Christmas, ring me. Hopefully there’ll be some signal away from this medieval pit. Okay?”

 

“Okay.” Jim relented, but warmth filled his stomach as he rested his head on his friend’s shoulder. It had been a long time since somebody had made such an active effort with him. It was new, but nice.

 

-*-

 

Hikaru Sulu boarded the Hogwarts Express at Hogsmeade station. It was crowded, students of all ages laughing, throwing snow, and hugging goodbye. Ducking his chin into the wraps of his scarf, he smiled. The carriages were filling quickly, too quickly to grab any of the good seats at the front. He recognised three Ravenclaws in a middle compartment, but with two owls and a cat, there was barely enough room for his trunk. After passing a good portion of the carriages, he found one half empty.

 

Leonard offered a smile as he walked in, lifting his trunk into the overhead compartment. Later, they were joined by Jaylah, her lithe frame drowning in an oversized muggle jumper. Next came Chekov, offering chocolate frogs from the stash his mother had sent ahead of the journey home. Equal parts relaxed, and rife with anticipation for the holiday ahead, the four parted in London with the promise to see each other in the New Year.

 

Jim found Spock in the restricted section of the library three nights later. It made no sense to limit an individual’s access to knowledge, if one was stable enough to endure whatever horrors could be found in the ‘off limits’ titles. Jim didn’t remember the exact phrasing Spock had used, but it mattered none. Spock cast a shielding spell around the two, and they sat by his lantern until sunrise, each with a different leather bound book on their laps.

 

-*-

 

It wasn’t until second year that Jim realised what they had built together was turning out to be more than just a team. They were slowly, easily, becoming a family.

 

When they had finished their first midnight practise after the Easter holidays, they all slinked back towards the Gryffindor common room, Nyota and Sulu leading the way. Inter-house sleepovers became a thing at the start of the year, when Jaylah had crashed her broom practising a Wronski Feint and Bones had nearly given himself an aneurism making sure she was alright. They had all piled into the Hufflepuff common room at Chekov’s insistence that it was the closest and comfiest, Jaylah grumbling that she was _fine, stop worrying yourselves_ , and Bones collapsing onto the plush bean bag as his eyes became heavier and heavier.

 

Three fifth years were loitering by the fire when Nyota pushed open the portrait of the fat lady, cheeks flushed from the crisp night-time wind. Louisa Nott and her boyfriends spared one look towards the group, but returned to their hushed conversation fairly quickly. There was a sense of comradery amongst students who stayed up beyond nights out – your business was your own. The group had long since stopped being on the receiving end of whispers and stares – it wasn’t unusual, now, for a mixture of robes to be crowded together in the four different common rooms.

 

Jim ached, his arms felt like they were only just connected to their sockets, but the practise had been well worth the pain. He and Nyota worked nearly seamlessly, now, a duo which Scotty swore put the organised teams to shame.

 

Groaning, he collapsed onto an armchair, swinging his legs over the plush arm. The clock was ticking closer to 2am and he had potions in less than 6 hours. For now, though, all he could hear was the crackling of the fire and the steady breathing of his friends.

 

“Hey, Sulu?” he murmured, eyes drooping.

 

A brief pause, then a quiet “hmm?”

 

“What do you think of divination as an elective?”

 

Sulu snorted softly. “Crap, but a decent enough filler if you don’t take it to OWLS.”

 

Jim moved his head, a slight nod. “Got my careers meeting with Greengrass tomorrow. Any tips?”

“Be honest, even if you don’t know what you want to do, yet. And shut up and sleep.” Grumbled Nyota, summoning her blanket from the girls’ dorm.

 

The corners of Jim’s mouth curved into a sleepy smile, before unconsciousness ebbed its way across him.

 

-*-

 

Spock sat across from Flitwick in his head of house’s office. The tall windows were draped in heavy blue velvet curtains, a basset hound made from silver whispers played lazily by Flitwick’s desk. Spock eyed it with a mixture of apprehension and fascination; corporal patronuses were such a curious piece of magic.

 

“So, Mr – uh, Shuh- Sh’ng, er –”

 

“Spock,” Spock said, familiar by now with the difficulty his full name posed to others.

 

“Indeed,” the tips of Flitwick’s ears flushed red and he cleared his throat. “So, have you any idea which career path you’d be interested in pursuing?”

 

Spock shook his head. “My father wishes me to return to our kin, upon graduating, and continue the work of our people.”

 

“Hmm, hummed Flitwick, eyes narrowing slightly. “And you? What do you want to do?”

 

“I – wish to do the same.” Spock said, hesitantly.

 

The basset hound whined, high pitched, and lopped over to Spock’s seat where it flopped onto its belly, head resting on its paws.

 

Flitwick held back a comment and instead turned his gaze to the sheets of paper spread across the desk. “Your electives, then. Usually your career path is heavily influential in your choices, but I suppose you have more _freedom_ with your choices, now.”

 

Spock nodded, hands clasped in his lap. He had thought extensively about his subjects, a silent struggle which he didn’t seem fit to burden his mother nor his friends with.  “I believe,” he began, throat tight. “That I would receive the most benefit from studying…”

 

-*-

 

“All five?!” Jim cried, half impressed, half concerned. “You’re going to burn out. Seriously. Five electives and seven cores? There aren’t enough hours in the day. Plus Quidditch and, I don’t know, having a social life – ”

 

Spock smiled – or, at least, the small quirk of lips that Jim had dubbed Spock’s smile – and placed his books into his bag. “The latter has never really been an issue.”

 

Jim clapped his shoulder, firmly but with affection. “Hey, you’re social, in your own way.”

 

“At least,” began Spock, not sure why he found the sentiment necessary to say. “We will share all of _your_ electives.”

 

At that, Jim beamed, eyes crinkling in the way they did only rarely. “There’s that to look forward to, definitely.”

 

-*-

Fourth year brings a lot of changes. The first, that Nyota and Chekov both receive spots on the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff official Quidditch teams, respectively. The second, that Jim realises he’s sort of in love with his Elvish friend.

 

Neither piece of news really came as a shock. Nyota and Chekov were hard workers and thoroughly deserved to be recognised for their skills and dedication. And Spock – who couldn’t love Spock?

 

They had a party when they heard the news, the room of requirement providing Butterbeers, piles of sweets from Honeydukes, and party poppers. Still, despite the happy atmosphere, Jim couldn’t help the lump in his throat that built steadily as he watched the smiles on his team’s faces.

 

Uhura, glowing from one butterbeer too many and the sheer joy of her accomplishment, threw an arm around Jim, hugging him close. “None of this, _none of it_ , would have been possible without you. Thank you.”

 

Jim swallowed down everything that wasn’t pride and happiness for his friends, and hugged her back. “It’ll all you. You’ve done so well.”

 

Over Nyota’s shoulder, Jim watched as Bones persuaded Spock to try half a chocolate frog. Bones, who had done his research and knew that chocolate would give their friend the same buzz which they themselves gained from the butterbeer, looked rather smug as a looser smile took over Spock’s features. A faint green tint appeared on his cheeks, and Jim’s chest had never felt heavier.

 

They practised once more before the Gryffindor vs Ravenclaw game, two weeks away. They tried to do more, but between classes, homework, and the official Gryffindor and Hufflepuff team practises, free hours began to slip through the group’s fingers.

 

“Things’ll be back to normal soon,” said Bones, levitating his copy of _Hogwarts: A Revised History_ up to the makeshift shelf above the fireplace. “Once everyone gets used to their new routines, we’ll be able to sort something out.”

 

“Yeah, I’m not too worried,” yawned Jim, punching his pillow into a more comfortable position. “We’re a team, but we’re friends too. We’ll sort it out.”

 

That night, Jim dreamt of falling, his broom just out of reach as the wind pushed it further and further away.

 

-*-

 

“And Potter’s got the quaffle, heading towards the goals, _oh_ that was a good shot from Ravenclaw beater, Warrington. Potter’s dropped the quaffle, but Gryffindor’s second chaser, Green, has caught it! And he heads towards the goals… and he scores! That’s 120-80 to Gryffindor!”

 

Jim punched the air (“ _Yes!_ ”), waving the red and gold banner. Some of his surrounding Slytherin’s tutted and groaned – old rivalries ran deep, despite the years that separated them from the history they’re taught daily. Jim, on the other hand, couldn’t care less about their frustrations with Gryffindor’s success. Nyota was eyeing the Ravenclaw chases, her long black hair swaying gently in the wind. It was perfect conditions for her first game, for any Quidditch match. It was sunny, clear, with no clouds in sight. Enough of a breeze to need a scarf, but not so much so that it hindered the direction of flight.

 

A steady chant of ‘ _Go, Go Gryffindor!’_ started up throughout the stands, and Jim proudly sung along. Across from him, he could see Scotty singing along, his own blue and silver banner forgotten in his hands.

 

Uhura zoomed around the pitch, stopping to throw a wink towards Jim and Bones, sticking her tongue out good naturedly at Scotty and Spock as she went. A bludger was heading towards Bell, the Gryffindor seeker. She swung back her arm, grip solid. A resounding _thwack_ echoed across the pitch, drowned out by chants and cheers. The bludger soared through the sky, past the stands opposite until it circled back, choosing a new target. There was a roar of life as she sped towards the ball, and turning her head slightly, she saw Bell with his fist raised in the air, clutching the small, struggling snitch. Gryffindor had won the match.

 

And, then, a searing pain spread up her arm, worse than she had ever felt. A bludger passed her, mockingly, now it had found its victim. Uhura blinked back tears, clutching her broken arm to her chest as she lowered herself to the ground. This would not affect their victory, not today.

 

“We won! Well done team, fantastic, oh my gosh,” Nicholas gushed, red faced and sweaty, as he pulled the team into a hug. Nyota bit her lip, arm screaming in agony, but hugged the person closest with her good arm tightly.

 

When they pulled apart, she grinned at her team, each person feeling the thrill of their win. “Anyone need to see Madam Pomfrey?”

 

Green and Potter both had open cuts on their hands and faces, Bell was pretty sure he’d broken a finger, but waved off any concern with a flick of his wand and a quick _episkey_.

 

“Wouldn’t risk it on your arm, though” he frowned, looking her up and down. “Bludger breaks are nasty little things, never clean.”

 

“I’ll go with you to the infirmary,” said Green, a guiding hand on her back. “and then – the after party!”

 

-*-

Nyota saw Spock on the way to charms, her arm now healed and only a dull ache.

 

“I believe congratulations are in order,” Spock not-smiled at her. “I do not understand the dependency of emotion upon the outcome of a sport, but nevertheless –” Uhura shook her head, laughing. “—you performed very well.”

 

“Thank you, Spock.” She grinned, hoisting her book bag further up her shoulder.

 

Spock inclined his head, side stepping her on the way to transfiguration. “We will see you later, I assume?”

 

“Oh, you bet’cha.”

 

-*-

 

They rearranged three practises before things just… stopped. Uhura and Sulu were in the library, their common room, the patch of grass shielded by the old willow tree on the lake, studying for their OWLs. With practise and an increasing work load, it was difficult for them to commit to Jim’s team. Jim didn’t hold it against them, couldn’t ever blame them, but he often found himself lost in the evenings, not having to pass along notes or plan how to escape the aging Filch on their way out of the castle that night. Gryffindor’s recent victory did nothing to ease the frequency and intensity of their practises; if anything, it encouraged Bell to train them harder, faster, to keep up a good run. It wasn’t surprising to see the team, muddy and windswept, limping into the great hall for a late dinner hours after the start.

 

Jim wondered how Nyota was coping with it all, but saw her now so rarely it was all he could do to get in a smile and quick _hello_ before they were rushing their separate ways. Spock, surprising to no one, appeared to be coping extremely well with his lessons. Despite the comments surrounding the subject, he enjoyed divination. Firenze was a good teacher, and combined with astronomy, Spock could almost imagine a future in academics. Almost. He mentioned as much to Jim, in passing, as they mapped the planets one lesson. Jim’s quill paused on his parchment, ink pooling into a splotch, before continuing his labelling of Saturn. Spock rarely spoke of the future past Hogwarts, and it made Jim’s heart clench with the privilege of hearing him begin to wonder.

 

“Is that foolish?” asked Spock, reserved once more, as he moved from Saturn to Jupiter.

 

“No,” Jim said, voice rough. “Spock, I think you’d be brilliant. You’d be brilliant at whatever you chose to do.”

 

It was dark, far later than any reasonable class was held at, but Jim could have sworn he saw Spock flush.

 

-*-

 

Jim was taking nine OWLs; Astronomy, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Divination, History of Magic, Potions, Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures, and Transfiguration. Spock, surprising no one, was taking them all. Bones, knowing he had no choice but to carry on to NEWTs if he wanted to be a healer, was taking ten and he grumbled about it at least that many times a day.

 

Jim saw Jaylah in the halls between classes, saw Nyota and Sulu across the great hall at dinner, and they’d exchange smiles and quick _hey_ s. Uhura always looked tired, Jim wanted to comment on her dark circles and old bruises and poorly hidden yawns over desert, but he had no idea where to start. It had been months since they’d all spoken properly. Chekov would flit between tables, joke with Sulu and play exploding snap with Scotty, and copy charms notes from Spock. Jim studied Herbology with Sulu and played chess with Jaylah. Things were different. Not good, not bad, just different. Jim never had a problem with change, until then.

 

It wasn’t until Christmas, sheets of ice floating along the surface of the black lake and festive cheer in the form of wreaths and holly throughout the common rooms, that Jim looked up at the sound of a bat being dropped unceremoniously on the table in front of him. There stood Uhura, shivering from the cold and damp, still in her Gryffindor scarlet uniform. She stood out against the emerald of the Slytherin dungeon, a few first years cast curious looks over, judgemental sneers on their young faces as they regarded her colours and her stance. To Jim, she was family, a beautiful sight for sore eyes.

 

“I quit.” She stated simply, arms wrapping around herself.

 

“You...”

 

“Quit.” Nyota nodded. “Yeah. We’re learning and studying for next years’ NEWTs. I’ve got eleven OWLs, I want at least that in NEWTs. They’re fucking difficult but I know I can do it. I want to work in the department of communications between magical species. And I love Quidditch, so much, but it’s just.” She took a breath and pushed her wet hair out of her face. “It’s not fun without you guys. It’s not fun when half the school is riding on you to do well, to beat someone else just as skilled. And I miss you.” She finished, the latter mumbled so only Jim could hear it, but he heard it.

 

Jim didn’t know he had been carrying a weight on his shoulders, but as Nyota’s gaze lifted to meet his, that familiar smile (hesitant, determined) on her face, he felt it lift immediately.

 

“Welcome home,” he murmured, standing to wrap his arms around his friend. She was wet, still, but no longer shivering. Jim felt his own robes begin to dampen, but he didn’t care.

 

-*-

 

The room of requirement was the same as it had been three years ago, the first time they were there together. The eight of them played a lazy game of witchopoly, drinking warm butterbeer (or warm blackcurrant, in Spock’s case), enjoying the last night in each other’s company before the Christmas break. It was as if the puzzle was finished, each piece slotting together in harmony to create something beautiful.

 

Well, nearly every piece.

 

Spock was staying at school over the break, and Jim, (to much protest,) had persuaded Bones that he would be fine staying alone. Not, of course, that he would be alone.

 

“Try not to get too bored,” Scotty had smiled, in a way all too knowing to make Jim entirely comfortable. “But if you’re struggling for ideas, I hear the house elves take requests if you ask nicely enough. Keenser made me a wonderful breakfast tray the other day – I could put in a good word, if you want.”

 

Jim laughed. “Thanks, Scotty, but I’m sure I can make it downstairs to eat with everyone else.”

 

Jaylah grinned. “All six of the remaining student body. However will you cope?”

 

“He will cope as he always does. Admirably, I am sure.” Said Spock, and it was spoken with such sincerity that Jim could not help but gaze in open awe and wonder. Spock sat, poised as always, with his hands cupped around his mug.

 

Forgetting about present company, Jim took a moment to wonder how the hell this wonderful, beautiful creature could think that about him. About the kid who was not his dad, not anything all that important, not decked in red and gold.

 

The chatter around them continued, but Jim’s eyes didn’t leave Spock. And after a moment, Spock’s gaze joined his.

 

-*-

 

Spock looks beautiful in the Slytherin common room; the green glow cast over the room by the lake water seemed so natural on his pale face, the soft crackling of the fire made Jim feel safe, homely.

 

“You won’t be speaking with your mother this holiday?” Spock asked, and there was a gentle lilt to his voice that was not uncommon when it was just the two of them, as it was now.

 

Jim shook his head. “No, she’s really busy. Which is fine.” He swallowed an old lump, a story that he was learning by heart. “More work with the ministry.”

 

Spock inclined his head, hands smoothing out the blanket that lay over their laps. “My own mother doesn’t miss it. Working in the wizarding world. I believe… I believe she misses the contact, though. The ease of sociability.”

 

Jim hummed softly, always savouring any information Spock chose to divulge about his home life, his people.

 

“I… think I will miss it, too. When we leave here.” Spock confessed softly, staring at his hands. “It will be difficult. To leave you.”

 

Jim had been looking at Spock, had watched his lips form the words, and still… still he couldn’t quite believe it. He wanted to say a lot, to that. Words like ‘It doesn’t have to be like that’, ‘come with me, we’ll move into a crappy place in Diagon Alley and get stupid jobs and make it work’, or ‘I’ll go with you, instead’. Words that didn’t make it aloud, not over his rapid heartbeat. Instead, Jim took a leap of faith.

 

He reached over, nervous hand sliding under Spock’s, fingers linking together.

 

“I don’t want to leave you, either, Spock.”

 

The merfolk sang outside, farther and therefore quieter than usual.

 

Spock smiled, his hand squeezing back.

**Author's Note:**

> If you actually made it this far, thank you and let me know what you think!


End file.
